


On the Other Side of the Doors

by MoreMarrMoreMoz



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, Jealousy, M/M, Marrissey, Touring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9427061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoreMarrMoreMoz/pseuds/MoreMarrMoreMoz
Summary: Where Morrissey is jealous of Johnny looking after Andy in the depths of his addiction.





	1. Knock Three Times

As I stand in front of the hotel room door I’m a bundle of nervous anticipation. I clench my hand into a fist ready to connect with the barrier, the one thing keeping us apart, before forcing myself to pull it back.  
A sigh escapes my lips as I recall the pact I’d made with my heart in a desperate bid to protect it from breaking all over again. I’d promised the vital organ I would stay away from Johnny. But another vital organ has other ideas.  
God, I’m frustrated. Every part of me is screaming out for his touch, remembering the delicate strokes of his calloused fingertips against my most sensitive part. They should have felt rough, too many hours strumming his precious guitars leaving their marks on the whorls of his fingerprints. But it had never felt less than wonderful.  
Sharing a stage with him isn’t enough, or rather it’s too much. The constant reminders of what we had, from the body of his beloved Les Paul resting tantalisingly against his crotch, in the very spot I’d fallen asleep, spent after another night of lovemaking. The hair flipping, which he knows drives me crazy.  
And then tonight… Tonight I could have sworn he was flirting. Johnny flashed a few teasing smirks in my direction that he must have known would throw my vocals way off. I’d hit more than a few bum notes, in the end.  
Three pleading thumps as my fist connects with the door, my heart overruling my mind.  
A light shuffling haunts me from beyond the wooden divide, bare feet on plush carpet? Johnny’s bare feet. A carpet I would willingly burn my knees on as I give myself to him, if I ever get the chance to feel that again.  
The door creaks open, Johnny’s beautiful face peeping between the crack of door and frame.  
“Steven,” he says. I can hear exhaustion in his voice, or maybe it’s pity, I’m not sure. Either way, I’m not going to turn him down when he says the words I’ve been longing to hear. “You’d better come in.”  
The air hangs heavy in the room, which is stuffy despite its decent size.  
“I wasn’t sure about coming. I wasn’t sure if you’d let me in…”  
My voice trails off as I see the shadow of a body curled up in the armchair tucked away in the darkest corner of the room. A rustle of black clothes, camouflaged but for the tell-tale fair hair.  
“Andy’s here?”  
I can’t keep the annoyance from my voice. Andy. Fucking Andy.  
“He needs help. You can see what a mess he’s in lately. The heroin, it’s got a hold on him again. He needs is someone to take care of him.”  
“I get it. And I’m sympathetic, to a point. But why does it have to be you? Let someone else be his babysitter.”  
“Who else is there?” Johnny laughs. He flicks his fringe out of his eyes and my heart explodes. It does every time.  
“Mike?” I offer weakly, knowing even as I say it how ludicrous that sounds. Mike can barely look after himself, let alone Andy.  
“Don’t be ridiculous.”  
Johnny thinks I’m being selfish and petty, it’s obvious from the weary look in his eyes.  
“I don’t want to share you. We get precious little time alone together as it is, without Andy shaking in a corner like…like my gran’s old washing machine.”  
“Andy’s been my friend for a long time,” Johnny replies evenly. “I owe him.”  
He doesn’t add ‘since before we even met’ but he doesn’t need to; it hangs unsaid in the air. I’ve always hated that there are parts of Johnny’s life that I’ve missed out on, things I wish we’d shared. Jealousy rearing its ugly head again, I suppose.  
“You owe me too.”  
“Steven, please. This is difficult enough without you giving me a hard time.”  
He retrieves a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket, flips back the lid and caresses the cigarette between his fingers before bringing it to his lips. He looks up at me, his eyes hidden by long, dark lashes and that rogue fringe. It’s makes me ache with longing.  
“I do wish you wouldn’t smoke.” Not just because it’s slowly killing him, but because it’s slowly killing me.  
“You drive me to it,” he quips, cocking his head. He lights up, the flame from the lighter flickering orange-red in the dimly-lit room, and he inhales sharply before allowing the wisps of smoke to escape from between his lips.  
“You drive me crazy.” My voice comes out low, laden with lust. But I had to say it. I couldn’t not.  
Johnny’s eyes flash a warning, and he cocks his head towards the chair in the corner of the room, where Andy, who’s fitfully sleeping, jolts. “Steven. Leave it. Just for today, yeah?”  
But I can’t. It’s been weeks since we were last alone together, properly alone, and my body’s crying out to feel Johnny’s lithe frame against it, our bodies curling and curving, fitting together like neatly stacked plates.  
“If not today, then when?” My voice cracks and I hate myself for it, hate myself for allowing him to have this hold over me.  
He takes a long, thoughtful drag, closing his eyes as he inhales, head tipping back. It’s the image of how he looks in that blessed, beautiful moment just before he comes, and I can feel myself hardening at the memories.  
“Tomorrow,” he says finally. “I’ll find someone to sit with Andy for an hour, then we can talk properly.”  
Andy moves again, this time a pained groan accompanies the movement.  
“You need to go now though,” he says, his voice little more than a whisper, and I hope – no, I sense – that he wishes I could stay.  
My heart flips, tumbling into the depths of my stomach.  
Twenty-four hours, that’s all. Twenty-four hours. But as I head towards the door, not daring to look back at Johnny through the haze of the room for fear that I won’t be able to drag myself away, it feels as though it might as well be forever.  
Johnny Fucking Marr. Why do you do this to me?


	2. The Space between Us

God, I'm knackered. I'd barely slept a wink last night. Instead I'd spent all night tossing and turning as I pondered what would happen with Johnny. I must have gone through every possible scenario; the good, the bad and the ugly. 

... He couldn't stand the sight of me and wanted to leave the band...

... He loved me so much that being in such close proximity pained him...

... He was going to knock on the door and minute, begging me to take him...

Of course, all that final hopeful thought had lead to was me reaching down to my hardened cock and tugging the foreskin back and forth, back and forth as visions of Johnny took over my mind. The quick relief of release was tarnished by the realisation it was just a figment of my overactive imagination, and in the end all I'd been left with was a crinkled bed sheet and a wet patch where the cum had landed.

A cold shower and a vat of coffee had been the only thing that got me through soundcheck without falling asleep, that and having Johnny there. My tired eyes discreetly savoured his every move, from the nimble movements of his fingers to the way he shifted from foot to foot as he moved through a riff. It's a good job he had the guitar, because without it he'd have looked like an uncle dancing at a wedding, hopelessly uncoordinated and awkward. Not that I can talk. The whole reason I play up to the fey stereotype is so I can move around the stage, stealing glances. If I was stood facing a crowd all night I'd be unable to look at Johnny, which would be torture in its purest form.

"You sound tired," he'd said to me, slinging his guitar strap over his head, clutching his precious instrument by the neck as we left the stage. 

"Didn't get much sleep."

"Oh?" he questioned, a twinkle in his eyes. "Something on your mind? Or should I say someone?"

I looked back over my shoulder to the stage where Andy was messing with his bass and Mike was thrashing out some sounds. 'Good, I'd thought. 'They won't hear us.'

"Stop playing with me," I'd growled. "You know what's on my mind, Johnny." 

He'd stood still, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. It was infuriating. Beautiful and beguiling, but infuriating nonetheless.

"It's all sorted," he'd said, those mahogany eyes boring into my soul. "I'll knock on later. Around 5."

My heart had started thumping so hard that I was sure he must be able to hear it. 

"Really?" I'd replied, unable to believe my luck. "You found someone to stay with Andy?"

He'd nodded, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "Yeah," he'd laughed. "Mike."

I'd laughed too, then, before asking, "Did you tell him why?"

I'd held my breath as I'd waited for his response, unsure of the answer I wanted him to give. Telling the truth would surely mean the end of the band, because the other's wouldn't take well to knowing about us. But I didn't want to be a lie either; something sordid and dirty that had to stay in the darkness.

"I told him I was heading out to meet someone. Didn't elaborate."

"And you're definitely going to come? You promise?" 

I couldn't bear to get my hopes up again for him to stand me up. 

And then he'd given me that look again, the one where I felt as though he was seeing every thought I'd ever had, and he'd said the word I had needed to hear. 

"Promise."

I'd been unusually optimistic as I'd waited in the hotel room, watching the hands of the clock until the longest hand pointed northwards and the   
smaller one to the small black roman numeral V.

But now it's almost 7, and he's still not here. My stomach has twisted into a tightly knotted pretzel of emotion, everything from hurt, to fear, to pain.

We're due at the venue in an hour. 

As I lie back on the bed, the last remnants of hope evaporate, and I give up believing.

The first prickles of tears itch my eyeballs until I allow myself to cry freely, burying my head in to the musty-smelling pillow. 

And all I can think is 'so much for promises'.


	3. A Scatterbomb of Butterfly Kisses

The front row of the audience is full of familiar faces peering up over the edge of the stage. Die-hard Smiths fans who've made it their mission to see us live as many times as possible, some of our most ardent supporters. They're passionate and bursting with enthusiasm, allowing themselves to become absorbed in the music as though Andy's bassline is their heartbeat and Johnny's riff their racing pulse. 

Johnny. 

I haven't said a word to him since we got here, and although he'd placed his hand on my shoulder as we waited in the wings before the stage lights came up, I'd shrugged him off. He holds all the cards, and he knows it. I hate myself for being so pathetic, but when it comes to him I can't help it, and I know that if by some miracle he knocks on my door later, I'll let him in without hesitation. It's not about wanting him, it's something more visceral than that. It's a need, pure and simple, and I steal a look to my left where he's looking down at his fretboard in concentration. A pang of longing fills me. Christ, he's beautiful. 

I force myself to focus on a guy in the crowd instead. He's wearing tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses and a denim jacket, hair quiffed at the front, and looks lost in rapture as he sings the lyrics back to me. I roll my eyes at him, but it's not meant dismissively, more in recognition. He reaches his hand towards me, and as I bend to skim my fingertips against his, I smile. It's almost flirtatious. Not that I've ever been any good at that kind of thing, flirting is more Johnny's forte, but there's something comforting about someone wanting to touch me. Not just that, it's an open desire for contact, right here in front of everyone. There's none of the hiding that there is with Johnny - the lurking in dark corners in venues where his lips would search desperately for mine mine, the creeping around in the early hours so he can climb into bed unbeknown to anyone else, the rare occasions when we've ventured out on something that resembles a 'date', when we've deliberately chosen an empty restaurant where we won't be seen. I know it's my fault. I've let it be this way for so long and now I daren't rock the boat. I just follow Johnny around like a lapdog, sitting patiently at his feet as I wait for any crumb of attention that comes my way.

The song comes to an end, the final one of the set and I murmur a thank you to the audience before heading off stage. 

Johnny's there already.

"I'm sorry, Steven." The voice is a whisper in the darkness; somehow both a slap on the face and a sweet caress.

"I waited for hours. I waited all night, but you never came." I can't keep the anguish from my tone.

"Andy needed me." 

He steps closer, so close that I can inhale his scent. It's intoxicating.

"What a surprise," I mutter, but I'm already weakening.

"Don't be like that," he says, leaning his head against my arm. The warmth and pressure sends tingles through my body. His touch does that to me, every time. "I'll make it up to you."

"When?"

He tilts his head so it's now against my chest, his lips pressing against a bare flash of skin where my shirt is unbuttoned. It burns, in a good way.

"Tonight," he says, scatterbombing the lightest of butterfly kisses along my collarbone. "I won't let you down again. I need you. I need you so badly."

I swallow down the doubt stuck in my throat. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I mean it. I'll be there. I promise."

And my heart leaps in my chest. Please God, let me hold him in my arms tonight.

"Ok," I say finally, reluctantly pulling myself away. "Tonight."


	4. And Finally, He Came

I've got to trust that he'll come, and I do believe his words, but that still doesn't stop the crazy pulsating of my stomach or the ball of anxiety stuck in my throat giving me doubts. There's too much weighing on tonight, and although it pains me to admit it, if Johnny let's me down again, this whole thing will have to end. Self-protection, self-preservation, plain old pig-headedness - call it what you will. All I know is that I can't face another day where I'm riddled with Johnny Marr related anguish.

I love him so much. Too much, really. It isn't just the physical, despite his appearance affecting me in ways that other people so rarely do. It isn't only because my skin is aflame, even now, from where his lips were earlier, where the secret kisses invisibly branded my pale pigeon-chest. Johnny sees me as I am, and although he doesn't say it - would probably never say it - I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loves me, too. He wishes he didn't, I'm sure. I'm a difficult person to love, with my insanely jealous nature and the continual crippling doubts about anything and everything. But mostly Johnny wishes he didn't love another man, and that's how I know he'll never utter those words I long to hear, not to me. It's no secret that on the nights he creeps out to my room, Andy and Mike think he's meeting women. Different women in different towns, and they think he's getting his kicks with them, not me. If they only knew... It isn't like Johnny's short of offers, He could have girls if he wanted to, they're always hanging around after our shows, giggling as he coolly nods in their direction, that gut-twisting smug grin waiting in the wings for when they're not looking. He knows how attractive he is, and anyway, girls love a musician. But Johnny doesn't want them, he wants me. And that's how, despite it all, I know he's going to come.

Midnight passes, the thick, bonging chime of a lone church bell ringing out into the darkness. I shift on the bed, somehow knowing - sensing - it won't be long.

"Psssst!" The hiss is quiet, but recognisable, and I jump up, running to the door as quickly as humanly possible.

And when I open it he's there, his mussed-up dark hair a beautiful blessing, his weary eyes enough to make me steer him straight into the room and away from the harsh lights of the corridor.

"You look exhausted," I whisper, reaching out to brush my fingers against his cheek. "Come on. Come and lay with me."

He willingly follows my instruction, kicking off his shoes and sinking into the sunken mattress. He sighs a breathless sigh as I drape my arm around his waist and press my nose against the skin on his neck. Smoke and leather and a scent I can only describe as 100% pure Johnny dances in my nostrils, and an unfamiliar yet welcome wave of happiness fills me once more.

"I'm so tired, Steven," he says, moving his body back into mine. The stirring starts and he must feel it against the small of his back, but I will my body to behave. Just having him here is enough for now. 

I breathe him in once more before saying, "Ssshh. Sleep first, play later," but I plant a tender kiss on the skin behind his earlobe anyway, a goodnight gift and a hope of sweet dreams for the man who I love more than anything.

It's been a while since we've had this, but nothing has changed. It's always me protecting him. I can feel the movement of his body with every fractured breath he takes and as I hold him, a small foetal shape, I know that despite my earlier thoughts I'd fight forever for this. For HIM. I want to be the womb, the safe place no one can touch. I want to be the umbilical cord, nourishing and providing. 

And the final though I have before giving in to sleep is that if only Johnny could admit that he loves me and needs me every bit as much as I love and need him, my life would be pretty damn perfect right about now.


	5. After the Dawn

The darkness dissipates, the hazy first light creeping in through the crack in the curtain. I haven’t slept, my bid to savour every moment of Johnny lying next to me well worth the exhaustion which is seeping into my bones. My eyes had adjusted to the near-blackness of the silent hours, until I was convinced I could see every well-loved crease of Johnny’s skin, and when he’d turned to face me soon after the church bells had struck four, I’d studied him as though I was revising for an exam, etching every detail deep into a far corner of my mind. I knew I’d want to recall this moment during the loneliness which always followed our encounters, the times where my heart would weigh heavy with longing in the bird-cage of my chest.

“Johnny,” I whisper. “It’s getting light.”

He stirs, his eyelids parting as though in slow motion, and in the sleep-drunk moment he looks so bloody beautiful that I want to weep.

“What time is it?” he slurs, pulling the blanket up over his shoulder and nuzzling his head into the pillow. “It’s too early.”

“It’s gone six,” I say apologetically, reaching to touch his mop of dark hair just because he’s here and I can. It’s no longer rigid, the way it is when he’s used too much hairspray, instead it’s soft and fluffy like a Persian kitten. “You’ll have to go back to your own room soon.”

“Not yet.” 

He lifts a heavy arm which envelops me, and I close my eyes for the first time all night, losing myself in the moment. The here, the now, the wonderful present, and for once it is wonderful.

“Come closer,” he urges, his voice husky with sleep. “Really close.”

I don’t need asking twice, and our lips meet in the first kiss of the day, the week, the month, Johnny’s tongue dancing against mine with every bit as much urgency as mine dances against his. It is a goosebumps moment, and I’m sure every hair on my body is standing upright with the lust that is flooding through me.

"This feels good," he says breathily, his body writhing against mine in a way that is such a fucking turn on that I worry I won't be able to hold back. 

"Ummm." It's all I can manage to say because I'm concentrating so damn hard. I can't - won't- allow myself to come this soon. For Christ's sake, he hasn't even touched me yet.

His hands are everywhere, fingers splayed as he runs them down the bare skin of my back, skims the sharp protruding angles of my hipbones, and finally brings them to rest where the tent of my underwear is pointing right at him. I bite down on my lip as I inhale, the blood pumping around my body so quickly now that my head is full of clouds and candyfloss. 

He laughs, but not unkindly, and I'm unsure whether it's my straining erection or obvious pleasure/pain threshold being tested which is the cause of amusement. "Someone's excited," he says, kissing my chest in the exact same spot he had after the gig last night. The flutter of his warm lips on my skin rouses me more, and fisted hands twist against the bedsheets as they move lower. He kisses my belly button, then the tangle of hairs below, until he lowers my briefs and releases my cock from its white cotton prison. I gasp, both at the cool temperature of the air and the promise of what's to come.

He shuffles down the bed, positioning himself over me and I want to beg him to hurry. The heat is pulsating through me and I know I won't last long.

His eyes don't disconnect from mine as his mouth closes around my tip, his tongue passing over the sensitive spot with movements that drive me wild. His hand grips my shaft and I lean back, my body desperately fighting the inevitable as he tightens his grasp, firm movements in perfect rhythm with the flicks of his tongue. Of course the rhythm would be perfect. It's Johnny, I wouldn't expect anything less.

The explosion is coming, too soon and too intense.

"Johnny!" I cry, my voice strangled. "I'm...coming!"

He doesn't recoil as I shoot my load, his lips remaining a tight 'o' around me until every last drop of cum is released.

He swallows, slides up my body and plants a kiss on my lips. I can taste myself on him - in him - a sickly salty taste and I'm overcome with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," I start, " I knew I wasn't going to last. It's been so long since we were together..."

"Sssh," he says, placing his finger gently against my lips. "It's OK. Everything is OK."

I don't know how I can possibly love him more in this moment than I did before, but somehow I do. The love multiplies within me, like a bundle of cells doubling, quadrupling until it's all-consuming and I have to vocalise it. I can't not.

"I love you," I say. "I love you so much."

And I wait for him to reply, hoping he'll repeat those words back to me the way he has in my dreams, but he doesn't. Although the words he says are almost as thrilling.

"Show me how much."


End file.
